Jesse's Renegade (#3 of the Danner Quartet)

by Nancy Bush

  His indolent form infuriated Kelsey. He looked so… animalistic! At his throat she could see dark chest hairs, and the breadth of his shoulders made her wonder at his strength. She found she detested those beautiful all-seeing eyes. And she detested his face, even though the structure was different from the youthful Jesse. Age had changed him dramatically. He’d been almost pretty as a boy, sporting the thickest lashes and most beautiful smile she could remember. But he wasn’t approachable anymore. He was dangerous and coldly masculine and what had once passed as youthful high jinks could be termed only cruelty now. He got what he wanted, when he wanted it, from whom he wanted it, and the devil take those who didn’t comply.

  Well, she wouldn’t comply. If he wanted something, anything, he was going to have to take it by force.

  “As I recall you wanted a wife who could place you in society. Her appearance, pleasing or otherwise, was not part of the bargain.” Kelsey’s eyes were stormy.

  “I remember what you looked like once. You were the most unusual woman around. You had all the old lechers drooling over you without even trying.”

  Kelsey stared. “Your memory’s faulty! When you left, I was still a child.”

  “My memory’s excellent.”

  They eyed each other silently for several moments. Kelsey couldn’t credit his conclusion. She possessed some beauty; she knew that. Once upon a time she’d even cultivated her beauty. She’d worn elegant gowns at some of the Rock Springs dances. She’d fixed her hair and let it fall down her back. She’d even flirted a bit with Harrison, her one-time husband-to-be. But those moments had been fleeting, a brief slip into fantasy before Kelsey learned men couldn’t be trusted. Her brother, Jace’s, repeated attempts to marry her off to the highest bidder, her prospective suitors’ drooling, lustful looks, and then Harrison’s breaking of their engagement had taught Kelsey well.

  Except it wouldn’t be truly fair to blame Harrison for that. They’d been friends, not passionate lovers. They’d agreed to marry more to end the feud between their two families than out of any binding love. And though Kelsey had been left standing at the altar, it was only because Harrison had been wounded and unable to make it to the church. He would’ve married her if he could have; she knew Harrison wouldn’t have purposely humiliated her. No, the hurt she felt owed more to the fact that no man had ever loved her – really loved her – like Harrison Danner ended up loving Miracle Jones Danner, who was now his wife. For a moment she wondered if they’d had any children yet. The thought was bittersweet.

  “I want you to look like that Kelsey Garrett again,” Jesse said. He regarded her moodily, as if the mere sight of her displeased him. “I’m meeting a man this afternoon who’s interested in selling me one of his homes. I want you with me, playing the part of the adoring, beautiful wife.”

  His words brought her back to earth with a bang. “Buying a house!” Kelsey was aghast. “We can’t afford it! We can’t afford these rooms! The way you spend money, my inheritance will be gone before next Tuesday!”

  “Your inheritance?” he bit out.

  “I should have never handed you that money. I should have insisted I keep hold of it. You’re reckless and foolhardy! We’ll be penniless in the space of three weeks!”

  Jesse slammed down the brandy snifter, spilling drops onto the table from the force. He sprang to his feet and advanced upon her, staring down at her through blazing eyes. “I have enough money to take care of us for a lifetime,” he declared in a voice that hissed with muted fury. “Your inheritance is safely stashed away.”

  “But –”

  “Be quiet,” he flashed through her sputtering. “And change into something you can take on and off without spending three hours about it. We’re going to a seamstress, then to Mr. Connor’s office, then to Zeke’s office…”

  “Henry Connors?”

  “You know him?” Jesse demanded swiftly.

  “We’ve – never actually met.” Kelsey felt the note in her pocket burning through the fabric. She decided it was to her benefit not to let Jesse know her penchant for getting information her own way.

  “Well, take care. Everyone still thinks you’re Orchid Simpson. We’ll stick with that.”

  “I’d like to know what you meant about having more than enough money,” Kelsey said.

  “I hate to disillusion you, Mrs. Danner, but I’m wealthy. It’s a fault of mine, making money. I’m afraid you’ll just have to get used to the idea. Now, go change.”

  “I’m not buying more clothes. I –”

  “Go change, or I’ll change you.”

  The threat in his voice was unmistakable, and it raised Kelsey’s ire like a match to dry tinder. “Lay a hand on me and I’ll scream bloody murder!”

  “Go change.” He glanced at the clock on the mantel above the fireplace. “You have twenty minutes.”

  ¤ ¤ ¤

  Kelsey’s face flamed with pent-up emotion. She sat stiffly beside Jesse on the buggy seat. Not for a moment did she believe his protestations of wealth. Hah! This buggy was proof of his financial woes. Dusty, dirty, it’s blacking chipping away – Agatha would have berated the stable groom up one side and down the other for such inattention.

  But if Jesse’s pride were so enormous that he couldn’t admit he was penniless, she, Kelsey Garrett, would button her lip. He could fall on his face at some public event and make a spectacle of himself and that would be revenge enough.

  He sat stonily beside her, the reins loose in one gloved hand. Clouds threatened rain and Jesse kept glancing skyward. Kelsey wondered what he planned to do if a sudden deluge caught them. Her bonnet was more stylish than functional. Gray, with a lush pheasant tail feather curling under the chin, Kelsey had picked it because it was her nicest. Not that she wanted to do his bidding, but, well, the idea of Jesse undressing her was enough to make her swallow her pride for a short time.

  Her dress was a soft dove gray also. Jesse had eyed it with distaste before they left their rooms, which had made Kelsey feel better. Small victories were all she had, and she was determined to enjoy every one of them.

  The seamstress Jesse took her to was in a posh area of town, a lovely little shop with gorgeous hats in a rainbow of colors in the window and several dressmaker’s models wrapped in flowing gowns. This was not a place for minor heiresses from Rock Springs, with or without their twenty-thousand-dollar inheritances. Kelsey glanced anxiously at Jesse and plucked at her gray kid gloves. Was he so hell-bent on proving a point that he would spend her every cent, making her conscience writhe with every foolishly purchased extravagance?

  “Mrs. Honeycutt?” Jesse asked when the bell above their heads tinkled, announcing their arrival.

  A lady with a beaming smile in a dark green satin gown swept toward them. “Good afternoon. Could I be of some help today?” Her gaze passed over Kelsey, a slight frown marring her brow.

  “My wife needs to be measured for some new gowns,” Jesse told her. “Something with more – color.”

  The frown disappeared as if someone had magically wiped it away. “Oh, something in blue! Or green. I have the most wonderful emerald-colored silk. Straight from the Orient. It’s divine. Utterly, sinfully divine.” She clasped her hands to her chest in ecstasy.

  “I’m sorry, I can’t –” Kelsey began.

  “We’ll take the green silk,” Jesse cut her off. “Show me the blue, too, and she needs some more clothes. Show it all to me.”

  “Jesse…” Kelsey said between frozen lips.

  “Indulge me, precious,” he answered, squeezing her arm lovingly and tucking it through his. His grip was like iron.

  “I don’t think we should be so extravagant all at once,” she murmured.

  “I haven’t had a chance to really spoil you,” he returned with a smile so utterly charming that Kelsey wanted to spit in his eye.

  “Ah, a man who appreciates a well-turned-out young woman,” the dressmaker sighed. “Right this way, Mr.… ?”

  “Danner. And thi
s is Orchid. She’s so careful with a penny, it’s all I can do to get her to treat herself.”

  “How unusual,” she said, clucking her tongue as if Kelsey had so much to learn about being a woman. “Let me help.”

  Kelsey was torn between fury and an undeniable longing for a gown out of one of those wonderful, brilliant silk fabrics. She glanced at Jesse, whose eyes danced with suppressed laughter. Grinding her back teeth together, she said through a tight false smile, “By all means, show me your most gorgeous and most expensive fabrics.” Blast and damn, she would rather squander all of her money than suffer his superiority one more instant. “I want scores of dresses, and hats, and shoes, and a bounty of silken undergarments worthy of a princess!”

  One hand on her hip, she flung Jesse a triumphant look.

  To Kelsey’s consternation, he smiled slowly and for a heart-stopping moment she saw again the rakish charm of the Jesse Danner of her youth.

  Chapter Eight

  Jesse had never been known for possessing a long fuse on his temper, and therefore he truly believed he’d been positively saintly in his forbearance where Kelsey was concerned. He vacillated moment by moment between wanting to strangle her and wanting to kiss her, touch her, drag her off to his bedroom and make love to her until they were both senseless with passion.

  His blood stirred at the thought which only added to his mounting frustration. He swirled his snifter of brandy, then knocked it back as if it were water. Clenching his teeth against the hot burn, he glared across the room at her closed bedroom door. His sudden desire for his wife was not supposed to happen.

  The fact that Kelsey had chosen to do battle over how many dresses she should possess, making him practically physically force her to accept them (an anomaly since most women would sell themselves into marriage to be in her pricey new shoes) exasperated and infuriated him to no end.

  After three hours of fighting which had left Mrs. Honeycutt frazzled, bewildered, and with her nose clearly out of joint, Jesse had grabbed his wife’s unwilling arm, marched her back to the buggy and, heedless of the rain that now came down in buckets, drove her to the hotel and dragged her upstairs.

  Ominous silence issued from behind the closed door to her bedroom. He half expected to hear the sound of a tantrum; he’d known women who would break every valuable item they possessed to infuriate their husbands or lovers. But Kelsey, so far, had confined herself to pointed isolation.

  Which was fine with him. Glancing at the clock on the mantle, he sighed, set down his brandy snifter, and walked to her door. “I’m meeting Mr. Connors now,” he told her. “Be ready by the time I get back.”

  He expected her to ask, “Ready for what,” but he only received more of that accusatory silence.

  Muttering impatiently, he let himself out of the suite. It was all for the best anyway. He couldn’t trust Kelsey to give the performance of a loving, trusting wife. The fact that she was his wife was like a jolt with a branding iron every time it crossed Jesse’s mind. He burned with disbelief and resentment, and, he could admit though it tore his gut to do so, a certain amount of lust.

  She was gorgeous, whether she tried to cover it up or not. And she was full of spirit and pride, qualities he admired in a woman. But she was also pigheaded, stubborn, and untrustworthy, and full of her own brand of self-righteous justice.

  ¤ ¤ ¤

  Kelsey heard the outer door close with a soft thud. With a sigh of self-disgust, she let herself out of the bedroom and into the main salon. Eyeing the liquor cabinet, she wished she enjoyed spirits more. If there was ever a time she would have liked a bracing shot of whiskey, this was it.

  Instead, she drew herself a bath, washing the rain from her hair and soaking in the fabulous lavender- and rose-scented bath salts donated by the hotel. “Be ready,” he’d ordered just before he left. Ready for what? Was Jesse already setting his plan into motion? They’d scarcely been married one full day!

  She dressed in a hurry, finding no solace in the dull dark blue dress with its chokingly high collar. Combing her hair dry, she settled her heavy mane in another hairnet, then drew a strengthening breath of courage.

  Ten minutes later Kelsey was striding impatiently back and forth across the blue and gold carpet of the salon, wondering how long Jesse would be with the real estate man. She ended up in the center of the room, her hands clasped together so tightly her knuckles showed white.

  Inwardly berating herself for compounding mistake after mistake, she asked herself if she could truly go through with this marriage, even for a little while. Could she truthfully stand by while Jesse insinuated himself in Portland society, knowing, as she did, that he was social-climbing for some nefarious purpose of his own?

  She shook her head. Jesse Danner had married her for her connections. The more she thought about it, the less sense it made.

  Why should she honor their bargain? she asked herself belatedly, surprised that it had taken her this long to consider the obvious plan of action. She would leave. Right now. Disappear without a trace. She owed Jesse nothing, and she was worried and alarmed that she’d been blinded by some pointless sense of duty and hadn’t left earlier.

  Spurred to action, Kelsey grabbed her valise and repacked it once more. She checked her derringer once again and was reassured to see it was loaded and ready. She thought of her belongings, her rifle and the rest of her clothes, and was washed by a wave of poignancy. She’d treated Agatha and Charlotte shabbily, and for what? True, Charlotte was beyond Jesse’s reach, or, rather, he was beyond hers, but Agatha had said herself that if Kelsey had just been honest, none of this would’ve happened.

  “Blast,” she murmured unhappily, gathering up her case and heading downstairs to the hotel foyer.

  The bejeweled and garishly bedecked dowager was standing near the bottom steps as Kelsey descended the stairs. The woman was leaning heavily on her cane and being aided by a young man whose expression suggested perpetual boredom. Upon spying Kelsey, the woman’s dark, beady eyes traveled over her in a thoroughly insulting inspection and Kelsey, who’d had her fill of being someone else’s pincushion, leveled a cool, imperious gaze back at the woman.

  “I’ve seen you before,” the dowager declared in her commanding way.

  Kelsey was taken aback. “I don’t think so, madam. I would have remembered you.”

  “At Lady Agatha Chamberlain’s,” she stated. “You were one of the servants, I believe. Agatha was having a soirée, and you were serving canapés. Your name escapes me, child.”

  Clearly she expected Kelsey to bow and scrape and behave like the lower classes. “It’s Orchid Simpson, and if I was passing around trade canapés, it was out of politeness, not servitude, Madame Duprés.”

  “Ah, you do remember me.”

  “I heard the desk clerk call you by name. I’m sorry, but as much as it surprises me, too, I don’t recall your being at any of Agatha’s functions.”

  “Your mind was elsewhere. I recall very clearly. You were there only briefly and you kept looking out the window. I remember thinking that if my servants acted so dreamy and lost, I would dismiss them on the spot.”

  Kelsey suddenly knew which soirée Madame Duprés was referring to. She’d been homesick after a bout with influenza, and all she wanted to do was saddle up Justice and ride far, far away from the social silliness of some of Agatha’s acquaintances. Vaguely she recalled several older women who seemed to blur together in a blend of silvery hair, too much rouge, and overly bright and garish gowns.

  “As I said before, I was not a servant. I was Charlotte’s companion.”

  “Was?”

  “I left Lady Chamberlain’s when I got married.”

  The sadness in Kelsey’s voice didn’t escape Madame Lacey Duprés, who was as devious as she was boorish. Though she had been married only once, briefly, in her youth, to a Confederate soldier, she’d been desperately in love once – with someone else. She knew what Orchid was feeling all too well.

  But then, th
e money from her deceased husband’s wealthy Southern family had helped her get over her pain and enabled a lowly chorus girl to become mistress of the manor. Lacey – whose real name was Myrtle Cummings – had used her own sharp, business-oriented mind to encourage those funds to multiply. The result was that she was outrageously wealthy and completely ignorant of protocol. The only reason she’d been at the eminent Lady Chamberlain’s soirée at all was that a “friend” owed her a favor. Lacey had loaned the blue-blooded and financially-straited woman a hefty sum of money and had been paid interest in invitations to the events happening in Portland. Lacey who currently resided in San Francisco, had used her “friend’s” connections whenever she was in Portland. Unfortunately, the friend had had the bad sense to die last winter and Lacey was left without anything but her enormous wealth.

  For reasons of her own she was planning to move to Portland, and now, sensing that this impudent chit might help gain her entry into Portland’s most snobbish homes – specifically Lady Agatha Chamberlain’s again! – Lacey decided to make herself indispensable to the young woman.

  “Your name?” she said again, irritated that the girl was so ridiculously proud. After all, she’d been a companion to Agatha Chamberlain’s granddaughter. If that wasn’t a servant, Lacey certainly didn’t know what was.

  “Orchid. Orchid Simpson Danner,” said Kelsey as she tried to step past the woman.

  “Are you leaving the hotel?” Madame Duprés’s snapping black eyes rested on Kelsey’s valise.

  “Er – yes. I have somewhere else to go,” Kelsey answered vaguely.

  “Mrs. Danner, I feel so close to you.” Lacey grabbed Kelsey’s arm, which was quite a feat while balancing herself on her cane. “Agatha is a dear, dear woman, and I left my card with her. Please join me for afternoon tea, so we can get reacquainted.”